


AZA (After the Zombie Apocalypse)

by Lady Angel (dameange)



Series: AZA (After the Zombie Apocalypse) [1]
Category: Resident Evil (Movieverse), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/pseuds/Lady%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was thanks to the zombie apocalypse that Sheriff Stilinski finally finds out what his son and his friends have been hiding from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> 1\. I stopped watching the Resident Evil series after number 2, therefore, I’m only taking into account that the infection escaped the Hive and Raccoon City and started spreading.
> 
> 2\. As you read, you’ll notice some familiar names/characters. Instead of creating original characters, I’ve taken characters from other shows and used them as necessary. You’ll see that I needed a conspiracy theorist and a strong, capable mayor so I used Mozzie and Peter Burke from White Collar. In future tales, I may actually do a traditional crossover. But for now, if you recognize a name, they’re not mine, and please take them as they come, no real need to fill in their back story. 
> 
> Author’s Thanks: to Spikedluv for the cheerleading and letting me bounce ideas off of her even while she was busy writing her own story for this bang. And to Naushika , the wonderful creator of the art that inspired these tales. She not only inspired, she served as a great sounding board as well. And, last but not least, eak_a_mouse who betaed and edited and helped me see all the holes. Thank you, E!

Prologue

Beacon Hills, California survived the zombie apocalypse caused by the Umbrella Corporation incredibly intact and amazingly well thanks to:

1\. A paranoid, conspiracy theorist,  
2\. A well-prepared mayor,  
3\. An overprotective father who also happened to be the sheriff,  
4\. And an alpha werewolf and his pack.


	2. Tale 1: Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Derek Hale saves his life, Sheriff Stilinski (among a few others) find out about werewolves.

The day werewolves were exposed to the population of Beacon Hills started off normally enough.

John Stilinski oversaw the guards at the main gate as they rotated through to the new shift. It had been a quiet morning with nothing to report as no scavenging teams had been sent out today. The town’s supplies were well stocked and the crops and livestock were flourishing. The men and women who volunteered to walk the perimeter were tasked with making sure that the walls that surrounded Beacon Hills -- standing over two stories tall and fully embedded in the ground so not even an army of zombies could scale or move them – remained intact and secure. 

“Sheriff!”

John tilted his head back to see one of his deputies in the main watchtower waving his arms.

“Incoming! ETA 5 minutes! Bogeys on their tail!”

“Ready the gate!” John immediately ordered.

The guards jumped to their stations, ready to lift the gate to let the refugees inside the safety of their walls. More guards stood along the corridor of mesh fencing that made up their quarantine zone. The fencing started inside the concrete walls and formed a nearly half a mile long tunnel inside Beacon Hills. It served to quarantine both newcomers and their scavenger teams. 

“Get ready! Incoming: one SUV!” the watchtower yelled. A car horn sounded. “Now!”

The gate was immediately lifted only high enough to let the small SUV in.

Zombie bones crunched under the incredibly heavy gate. Two of them had been fast enough to get inside.

The car didn’t stop, just like the sign outside their gates had told them not to. The second the car passed them, guards pushed a sliding metal wall through the tunnel, blocking the zombies from following the car, trapping them in that first section. 

John eyed the two zombies, but neither were familiar. “Steven.”

His second-in-command, and the best sniper they had, nodded then calmly waited until the zombies had pressed themselves up against the mesh fencing. His shots exploded their brains.

“I’ll call the hazmat team, Sheriff.” Steven tilted his head towards the newcomers. “You should probably see to them.”

John nodded and quickly made his way to where the newcomers were slowly exiting their vehicle. They looked like a family: two men close enough in looks and age to be brothers, two women in their age range and three kids. Newcomers were few and far in-between and it made him wonder just how many people survived the experiment that destroyed Earth.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted them.

They all stared at him in awe. In this ravaged world, seeing a completely clean and pressed uniform, a shaved and groomed man who offered them pleasantries had to be nearly extinct.

Except here.

“Welcome to Beacon Hills,” he started off his spiel. “You’re welcome to join our community, but first, you’ll be quarantined here in the Corridor for the next seven days.”

“Seven?” The sharp-eyed, muscular brother stepped forward.

John nodded. “It’s how long our doctors say we have to keep you here to make sure you’re not infected. We’ll set up a tarp so you don’t bake, but--”

The man shook his head, the rest of his family looked like they were ready to fall to their knees. “You don’t understand -- we haven’t eaten in days. Almost a week.”

John winced. 

“Please, our kids,” one woman begged, wrapping her too-thin arms around an equally thin child. The kid couldn’t have been more than ten.

John sighed, but shook his head. The father in him couldn’t let children starve, no matter the situation. “I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t break your quarantine. Seven days.”

They all nodded gratefully.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Tacos,” Stiles announced as he bounced around the high school cafeteria’s kitchen. His son was working his shift as a cook for the town’s communal evening meal and John knew he could look forward to eating something healthy tonight. Whenever Stiles had a cooking shift, he bullied all the other cooks into making something even healthier than the normal. 

Of course, ever since the apocalypse, processed foods in Beacon Hills had become rarities brought back by the scavenging teams. Most of their food was now being grown in the fields scattered around the town and in the gardens that had taken over what had been people’s lawns. Additionally, communal meals were now the norm. Since electricity was a scare resource, only certain buildings had them. The high school, with its enormous walk-in refrigerators, huge kitchen appliances and a cafeteria large enough to feed nearly the entire town at once, was one of those buildings. Everyone brought their crops here to be cooked and to be shared amongst the townspeople. One of the first laws passed by the mayor and the city council became Beacon Hill’s motto: You work, you eat.

“Soft ones,” Stiles continued as he dished up the food. “You can rolled them up and pass them through the fence. Of course, that would then make them burritos, but really, after not eating for seven days, I don’t think they’re going to be worried about semantics.”

John didn’t bother hiding his smile as his son rambled as he worked. Stiles was his only family, his only child, and – even with all of the craziness that Stiles brought into his life – John fiercely loved the boy. But he was also very glad for the days where Stiles worked in the school’s kitchen to feed the entire town or the days he spent watching over the elementary school kids or the days he spent in the fields with other teenagers to grow Beacon Hills’ crops. Those were the days Stiles would come home, tired from a day of honest labor, and merely curl up by his side. He enjoyed those quiet times with his son.

“Bye, Dad!” Stiles shoved the plate into his hands.

“Bye, kid.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead and left for the quarantine corridor.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It all went to hell less than 30 minutes later.

John was handing the burritos through the fence when a shout startled him.

“NO!”

A large, warm body wrapped itself around him, between him and the fence. Strong hands pushed him further away. Screams echoed.

John spun in time to see Steven shoot one of the brothers, the rest of the family scrambling to get away from him. The man dropped, blood oozing into the ground around his head. Before he could say a word, Steven was yanking him away and the guards were surrounding someone with bodies tense and guns aimed. “What the hell?”

“He’s been scratched!” one of the guards yelled.

John pushed his way into the circle to see Derek Hale. It seemed as if the man wasn’t even aware of the guns pointed at his head. Instead, he was staring down at the long scratch on his arm.

Again John asked, “What the hell?”

“The dead guy was turning when you were handing them the food,” Steven explained. “Hale got between you two.”

John stared flabbergasted. Hale had saved his life at the cost of his own. This man he once arrested, who had already suffered the deaths of his entire family. He pushed down the guns closest to him. “Son--”

“You’re going to have to put me in one of the jail cells,” Hale said slowly. He never looked up, still staring at his bleeding wound. “The fencing for the quarantine will never hold me.”

John wanted to ask, wanted to know why Hale was so sure that the fencing wouldn’t hold him, but the expression on his face kept the question at bay.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It took less than an hour for the news to make its way through the town and to Stiles’ ears.

His son came thundering through the police station and into the cell block with Scott hot on his heels.

“Derek!”

John caught him before he could go within arms’ reach of the cell. “Stiles.”

Steven caught Scott, wrestling with the other teen to get him away from the cell.

For once, his son was completely silent as he stared at the man in the cell. Scott, on the other hand, made low, whining noises. Steven was staring at Scott uncomprehendingly because of those animal-like sounds, but still dragged him further away.

Hale stood in the shadows, arms wrapped around himself. He had been silent after quietly asking that Chris Argent be brought in. The scene between Hale and Argent had been bizarre as the younger man asked the older man to shoot him as soon as it looked like the infection had taken hold. Argent had nodded and stationed himself in the shadows with a direct line of fire.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles demanded. His son didn’t try to escape his hold, but John wasn’t taking any chances – he tightened his grip.

Hale shook his head.

John stared down at his son. It was an odd question to ask. He wondered if it had anything to do with the things that had happened in the last year before the zombies had been unleashed.

“Derek?” Scott’s eyes were wide, his expression shocked and, nearly begging. “What--”

Hale shook his head again. John thought he saw Hale’s lips moving for a split second, but no sound was heard.

Strangely, Scott nodded and moved towards Stiles, hands gentle as he reached for his best friend. “Stiles.”

Stiles was staring at Hale, the expression on his face both unreadable and completely anguished. He pulled away slowly; John letting go just as slowly. Stiles let Scott guide him out, but he paused at the door, eyes still steady on Hale. “I’ll see you in seven days, Sourwolf.”

John didn’t watch his son leave, instead, he watched Hale whose eyes were glued to Stiles. It had to be his imagination; there was no way Hale’s eyes had flashed red.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, after the town’s communal dinner at the high school, John cornered Stiles. “I didn’t realize you knew Derek Hale so well.”

His son oh-so-carefully closed the textbook he was reading by candlelight. Clearly, he needed time to think up a lie.

John sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what, Dad?” The look of confusion on Stiles’ face wasn’t faked, but there was a hint in there that the boy knew where this might be heading.

John decided to just lay it out. “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me. I wish you would just trust me.”

Stiles swallowed and was quiet.

John did not move. He had no intention of letting his son off the hook. Not this time. With the zombies and his close call, he knew time really wasn’t something he could afford to let slip by. 

“I want to tell you,” Stiles said quietly. So quietly John had to move closer. He was pleasantly surprised when Stiles scooted closer too and laid his head on his shoulder. John wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Does it hurt anybody? Is anyone in danger? Are you?”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Not anymore.”

That implied that someone had been in danger at one point. John rubbed his face with his free hand. “Will you tell me how you know Derek Hale?”

Stiles shrugged but didn’t move from under his arm. “Scott and I went to apologize to him after we accused him of murder. We’re kind of friends.”

“Friends.” He saw absolutely no reason why a twenty-five year old man would be friends with a couple of seventeen year olds. No reason that didn’t break a few laws.

Stiles must have heard something in his voice because he lightly slapped his thigh. “Eww, no, Dad. Derek hasn’t been giving either of us the bad touch.”

John moved just enough to see Stiles’ face and raised an eyebrow. He had seen the way the two of them looked at each other. “But do you want him to touch you?”

“Oh my God, Dad!” Stiles’ face was priceless.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Seven days later, John was surrounded by Mayor Peter Burke, Dr. Gregory House, Chris Argent and his son.

“What do you mean you’re not letting him out?!” Stiles fairly yelled at them all. His arms waved at Hale. “He’s fine! He didn’t turn!”

“And that’s why we’re not letting him out,” House pointed out with his words and his cane. “There are three things we know about this virus, kid, three. One: the Umbrella Corporation dreamed it up and fucked us – and the entire planet – over by not just bombing the hell out of the Hive. Two: only severing the spinal cord or disrupting signals in the brain will permanently kill a zombie. And three: all you need is one scratch or one bite to become infected. No exceptions.” House jabbed his cane towards Hale. “He was scratched, ergo, he should be a drooling, flesh-eating zombie by now.”

“And we want to know why he’s not,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re not going to do experiments on him!” Stiles exclaimed. “That’s against the law and I know you and the judge and the whole damn town council made this big deal about upholding U.S. law! It’s inhumane--”

“Stiles,” John broke in before his son could really get started. “Derek has already agreed to donate blood and tissue samples.” He paused and couldn’t help the admiring glance at Hale. John couldn’t imagine spending a single day in an eight-by-eight cell, let alone the seven Hale had already been in there. “He’s also agreed to an additional seven days in quarantine.”

Stiles opened his mouth.

“Just until after the full moon,” Hale spoke for the first time since Stiles had waltzed into the station.

That short phrase was enough to stop Stiles in his tracks. John watched carefully as his son and Hale stared at each other. He wondered what their silent communication said. He wondered how his son knew this man so well that they could silently communicate.

Finally, Stiles nodded, but then crossed his arms and made his determined face. “Fine, but I’m staying here while they take the samples. And if they try to take more than two samples of each kind or if they try to come back for more invasive samples--”

He left the threat hanging as he glared at House. It shouldn’t have made an impact on the irascible head of the Beacon Hills Hospital, but House must have seen or sensed something, because he slowly nodded.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Parental instincts lifted his head just in time to see his son easing his way past the deputies’ bullpen and towards the cells.

John debated for a split second before he was on his feet and silently following. 

For days now, ever since Hale had been quarantined, Stiles had visited. Sometimes just long enough to drop off food and a quick hello; other times, Stiles spent hours with Hale. 

John had never purposefully eavesdropped on his son before, but with Stiles’ recent behavior and Hale’s reactions to his son, he felt like he needed to keep closer tabs on them when they were together. He stopped steps away from the cell block, quietly listening.

“And on today’s menu: a hearty salad topped with tiny, itsy bitsy, blink-and-you’ll-miss-’em grilled bits of chicken and house vinaigrette. Bon appétit!” Stiles eased the cafeteria tray onto the food landing as he leaned against bars.

Hale didn’t move. 

Stiles jiggled the tray. “C’mon, Sourwolf, lunch time.”

“Stiles,” Hale all but sighed. “Move.”

“Oh c’mon! You’re not going to hurt me.”

Hale shook his head. “Did the doctors find anything?”

Stiles slumped, shook his head, then grudgingly moved away from the bars. “Fine, have it your way.”

Hale grunted, striding quickly forward to take the tray. He retreated into the farthest corner, but didn’t touch the food. “Have you eaten?”

Stiles brightened as he pulled out a square, metal lunch kit. “Look what I found!” He brandished it at Hale.

It was his old Batman one, from before even junior high. John remembered when his wife had carefully packed it away, lamenting that their son was now too grown up to use it. He smiled, glad to see Stiles petting it with soft smile and using it once more.

Hale eyed it, a little smile on his mouth. He must have known it was old and important to Stiles, because, instead of just a dutiful glance, he carefully studied it. “I had a cousin who had the same one,” he offered.

“He had good taste.” Stiles grinned. 

Hale laughed softly, sadly.

He didn’t have to elaborate; the cousin had to be one of the younger children who had died in the fire. Stiles smiled sadly and bent his head to his lunch. After a few bites, Stiles started talking.

“Everyone’s fine and no one’s fighting, thank God. Seriously, whose idea was it to have all the temperamental teenagers all in one place?” Stiles rambled about his classmates and their idiosyncrasies as if the zombie apocalypse had never happened. 

John didn’t watch Stiles, didn’t even really listen to his son. Instead, he watched Hale, who was nodding along, making a sound of agreement or disagreement every so often. He would have thought Hale was humoring the blathering kid, except every so often Hale spoke.

“Did Scott pass his history midterm?”

“Yes, but Allison and I had to come up with a system of carrots and sticks just to get him to study!” Stiles gestured wide and disgusted. “God, he’s such a . . . a . . .”

“Idiot,” Hale supplied, smirking into his salad, eyes gleaming at Stiles. 

Stiles made this complicated face, like he didn’t want to agree but did. “Yeah,” he sighed, throwing his hands up. “And don’t even get me started on what Allison had to offer as carrots to get him to cooperate!”

Hale’s face said, ‘please, don’t.’ “Her father?”

“Since he’s been here mostly, he didn’t say anything to Allison.” Stiles winced a little and he wasn’t meeting Hale’s eyes. 

“Did he do something?” Hale was immediately on alert, body ramrod straight, face tense, lunch forgotten on the cot.

Stiles waved him back down. “Nothing, just the usual ‘be careful with my daughter, you won’t like the consequences,’ yadda yadda.” 

Hale was still highly focused on Stiles, only relaxing when Stiles gave him a soft smile.

“Seriously, Derek, I would tell you if there was a problem.”

Hale moved back to his lunch, eyes still on Stiles.

Stiles had fallen silent, returning Hale’s intense scrutiny with a lingering smile. He leaned back against the wall, relaxed and comfortable, when anyone else would have fidgeted under such a pointed examination. John would have thought that Stiles would squirm with Hale staring at him like that, but Stiles seemed very comfortable. Relaxed and quiet in a way John could only remember from when his wife was still alive.

It made him nervous and happy and apprehensive and hopeful all at the same time.

John stayed until after Stiles left, hidden in the hallway’s blind spot. Waiting until Stiles left the station completely, he eased his way back towards his office, mind whirling with information. He knew Hale was serious about protecting Stiles from himself when he refused to get the lunch tray with Stiles anywhere close to the bars. He knew that the older man took an active interest in Stiles’ life. It was disconcerting how much Hale knew, never having to ask for clarification when Stiles rambled on and on about various friends and acquaintances. 

John had let their conversation drop after Stiles had hid his face because of the “wanting Derek” question, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he needed to revisit the topic.

He also wondered if he needed to visit with Hale and ask his intentions.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After another seven days in the cell and after all of the testing House and his team could think up and had the equipment for, Hale was still human. But when John moved to let him out, the mayor stopped him.

“Mayor Burke!” Stiles squawked.

“Peter, we agreed--”

“And we’ll keep the agreement,” Peter assured them, but he held up his hand, dark eyes focused on Hale. “But before we do, I have questions.”

“You want to know why I didn’t turn.” Hale surprised everyone by speaking.

“Yes.” Peter paced towards the cell, shrewd eyes carefully studying Hale. “If you’re immune, the doctors can’t figure out why. But I have a feeling you do.” He stopped just a foot away from Stiles, bending an appraising stare on him too. “As well as Mr. Stilinski here.”

Stiles swallowed hard and leaned back from Peter’s penetrating focus. He slowly shook his head in denial. 

“Leave him alone,” Hale growled, prowling towards the bars. 

Argent cocked his gun.

Hale sent a dismissive glare at Argent, turning back to Peter. “I’ll tell you.”

“Derek!” Stiles immediately forgot the mayor’s intimidating presence. “You--”

“It’s my secret to tell and if it helps, if I’m immune, then maybe it can help others.” It was the longest sentence Hale had ever said.

Stiles had his determined face back on again. “Fine, but if they come to try to take you away for experiments, you better fight fang and claw to get away. And you’re staying at my house from now on. No more isolated locations.”

Hale glowered but he nodded.

Again, John wondered about his son’s relationship to this man, that Stiles could so easily boss the older, intimidating man around like that. And “fang and claw?” What?

“Well?” Peter prompted. 

Hale took a deep breath, as if preparing himself. He slowly exhaled. “I was born a werewolf.”

No one said a word.

John stared at Hale, wondering if the kid had completely lost his marbles. Peter’s face look like how John felt. But then John saw Argent’s face and knew Hale was telling the truth. Stiles’ expression brought it all home.

His son had been hanging out with a mythical being for the last year.

Well, that explained a lot.

~*~*~*~*~*~

John watched as Hale morphed into what he called his beta form: claws, fangs, a prominent forehead and a thicker bridge for his nose. Hale looked like a picture of himself, but slightly twisted. If he hadn’t seen the mere seconds it took for Hale to transform, he wouldn’t have believed it. 

“This is your beta form?” Peter asked, staring with just as much fascination as John and House.

Stiles, unfortunately, didn’t seem to need to examine the werewolf closer. He and his son were going to have ridiculously long talk about this.

“Does that mean you have other forms?”

Hale nodded in answer to the mayor’s question. 

“Could you--”

Hale immediately shook his head.

“Uhm, yeah, no.” Stiles was adamantly shaking his head. “You don’t want to see him in that form; it’ll scare the locals.”

They all gaped at him. Except for Argent, who rolled his eyes at him.

“Are you dangerous?” House asked.

Stiles scoffed. 

“Well, obviously he’s dangerous,” House corrected himself. That damn cane came up to poke Stiles in the shoulder. If the guy didn’t stop poking his son with that thing, John didn’t care if House had been the doctor to help his wife give birth to Stiles, he was going to deck him. “I meant can he control himself or does the full moon make him go crazy?”

Again, Stiles scoffed. “Any complaints from the deputies during the full moon?” he asked, turning to face John.

John shook his head. Hale had been ridiculously quiet, barely ever saying anything other than “thank you” when his meals were brought. Even when Stiles had visited him every day during the fourteen day quarantine, Hale barely spoke. He had listened, nodded, grunted, and every so often answered in monosyllabic words. But not once had there been a disturbance reported.

“He was born like this, remember? Most of his family were wolves. He has no control issues.” Stiles paused, then smirked wickedly. “Unless we’re talking about his uncontrollable need to brood.”

Hale growled.

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. 

Hale made another sound, but this one was of distinct exasperation.

Maybe it was because Hale was behind bars, but John didn’t feel threatened at all. More likely it was his son’s utter disregard for Hale’s possible dangerousness. After all, if the teenager in the room wasn’t afraid, why should grown men be? But then again, Argent hadn’t taken his hand off one of his many guns.

He also hadn’t been surprised by Hale’s revelation.

“Chris,” John pitched his voice to be amicable. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Argent shrugged one shoulder. “My family’s been hunting rogue werewolves for a couple of generations now.”

“Rogue werewolves?” Peter shook his head ruefully. “And I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth.” 

“Wolves without packs become desperate and will hunt humans.”

Peter immediately stepped away from the bars. Stiles didn’t.

John reached for his son, but Hale transformed back into his human form.

Peter glared at Hale. “You--”

“Have a pack.” Hale nonchalantly moved forward to lean against the bars.

“There are more werewolves in Beacon Hills?” House demanded.

“Pack is more than just the wolves,” Hale said softly, eyes looking towards Stiles. “My father was human. And I had an aunt who didn’t want the bite.”

“I knew your father; a good man.” Peter relaxed again, moving closer and staring at Hale as if studying him for familiar features of his human father. “It sounds like pack is family. So who’s in your pack?”

Hale merely turned his head towards Stiles.

John didn’t know what to make of his son beaming at Hale.

“And, by extension,” Stiles cheerfully announced, “my friends and family.”

John felt his face drop in surprise.

Stiles grinned. “Yes, Dad, that includes you!” He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “And Scott and Allison--”

Argent winced almost imperceptibly. 

“And Lydia and, ugh, unfortunately, Jackson. And, oh, can’t forget Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Danny.”

“When did you become friends with Lydia and Jackson?” John asked bewildered. “He still has a restraining order out against you.”

Stiles waved that away like it was nothing. “Things change, Dad. You know, things like zombies and possible death make things like high school pranks seem stupid.”

Sadly, Stiles was making sense. Ever since the zombies had appeared, the town had pulled together in ways John had never thought they could. People who had pugnacious relationships were now working side by side to survive. Grudges and politics had been put aside to build Beacon Hill into a fortress for all of their safety. John was willing to believe his son and Hale.

But something about the way Argent held himself clued John in that Hale might not be telling the whole truth.

“The kids know about you being folliclely-abundant?” House asked.

Hale and Stiles both nodded. 

Oh yeah, there was a lot more they weren’t telling. Promising himself to corner his son, John asked the room at large, “What now?”

Everyone looked like they were thinking.

“Weeeell,” Stiles, unsurprisingly, was the first to speak. “Does anything have to change? I mean, the doc has samples that he can keep testing, but it sounds like you’re drawing a dead end there. And really, all it means is that Derek’s immune to the virus, so maybe from now on he should be the one to give the newcomers food.”

“I can smell the infection.”

That really froze everyone. If Hale hadn’t been the focus of their attention before, he was definitely now.

“What?” Stiles breathed, reaching out to Hale, fingers brushing Hale’s bare arm. “You didn’t tell me--”

“I didn’t know until the infected man reached for your father. I knew he smelled different, but when he changed, I knew why he smelled like death.” Hale spoke quietly, as if he was only speaking to Stiles. Like Stiles was the only person in the room. Their eyes stayed on each other.

John clenched his fists behind his crossed arms. He had been joking with his son when he asked if Stiles wanted Derek to touch him, but his instincts hadn’t been wrong.

Stiles grinned and John knew that his son had been just hit by one of his brilliant ideas. “Sourwolf! You can become a more integral part of society! Any time we have newcomers or the scavenging teams come back, you can sniff them for infection. Another line of defense!”

Peter seemed to swell with possibility as he bestowed an admiring look on Stiles. “That’s not a bad idea at all.”

“We’ll have to test it,” House immediately jumped in. “We have infected samples and if he can figure out which they are in a blinded test . . . .”

Peter was nodding. “Mr. Hale, what do you think?”

Hale looked first to Stiles, who’s head was frantically bobbing up and down.

“John,” Peter turned to him as if Stiles’ answer was Hale’s answer. “I want you to deputize him. Make him part of your department, increase his rations--”

“Give them to Stiles,” Hale immediately countered.

“Derek! No--”

“I can hunt outside the walls,” Hale rumbled, glaring in a way that broke no arguments. “Now that I know I’m immune, I can hunt game outside the walls. You can’t.”

Right then, John knew that Hale at least cared for Stiles. He relaxed, not as worried that his young, impressionable son was being taken advantage of by an older, experienced, exotic-in-more-ways-than-one man.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Here you go.” John stepped back to let Hale inside his guest room. 

Hale – Derek moved into the small room, carefully placing his two duffle bags on the bed. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.” John glanced over his shoulder to make sure Stiles hadn’t followed them up, despite John’s request that he gather their laundry to take it to the laundromat for their turn in the monthly rotation. When he turned back, Derek stood tall and tense, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. John sighed. “Derek, we need to talk about--”

“I haven’t touched him.”

John felt sucker punched because a “yet” was lingering in the air. His son was still a baby. A fragile, human baby who had lost his mother too young, who was brilliant and amazing and loving and John didn’t know if he would ever be ready to let Stiles go to be with anyone, but especially this one. This man who had suffered and was broken and a fucking werewolf to boot. He sucked in a deep breath. “But you want to. More importantly, he wants you to.”

Derek nodded slowly, his eyes glued to where John’s hand hung near his gun.

“I’m not going to shoot you!”

Derek’s nod this time seemed grateful, as if he believed John was telling the truth and not just mouthing a placation. 

John’s eyes narrowed. “You can tell when someone’s lying, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

John shook his head. Of course. A walking lie detector too. “Sit down, son.”

Derek sat on the bed, John took the desk chair. They stared at each other for a long moment.

John sighed. Instead of starting on the personal, harder topic, he decided to ease Derek into talking with him, rather than being on the defensive. He thought about a wolf documentary that he had watched with Stiles before the whole world fell apart. His son’s intense concentration on it now made sense. His mind whirled around the wolf dynamics and how the alpha was always in charge. “You’re part of my department now, Derek. Effectively, I’m your boss. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, sir.” Derek seemed to relax as he answered the question.

“Good. What about taking orders from the senior deputies? You’re going to be the newest deputy, Derek. I can guarantee you that my deputies will pull rank on you.”

The werewolf was quiet, mulling it over. “I shouldn’t have a problem, sir.”

He relaxed, glad that he wouldn’t have Derek fighting with the other deputies for power. 

“Unless they’re abusing their authority over me.” Derek stared at him as if daring him to contest that.

“They do that, and you come to me. Understand?” John waved that concern away. He wouldn’t stand that from anyone and his people all knew it. Derek nodded. “And the mayor’s decision to keep your lycanthropy quiet, you okay with it?”

“More than.”

John nodded. “He’s probably going to tell his wife and his husband. And Neal will probably tell Mozzie; don’t be surprised if you get a visit from him.”

Derek winced, but nodded.

Everyone in town knew who Mozzie Haversham was and what he did to earn their gratitude. He was the conspiracy theorist who had enough connections and balls to expose what the Umbrella Corporation had done. At the time, most people hadn’t believed him and the Corporation had sent people after him. Mozzie had fled to the one place he knew he would be safe, his best friend’s home, Beacon Hills. Neal Caffery, husband to the town’s mayor, had welcomed his best friend with open arms and, more importantly, an open mind. Once Mozzie had shown Neal what he had uncovered, he had shown Peter. Quietly, Mozzie, Neal, Peter, and Elizabeth – Peter’s wife – had started planning. That’s why, when the infection of Raccoon City had exploded onto the national news, Beacon Hill’s leadership had been ready with plans to fortify the town against the infection. Everyone had believed Mozzie then.

“House will probably tell his immediate staff – Wilson, Foreman, Chase, Cameron – so don’t be surprised to see any of them.”

“Sheriff,” Derek’s voice was quietly amused. “Is this your way of telling me my secret isn’t safe?”

John quirked his lips but shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. The doctors are still bound by confidentiality laws. And Elizabeth, Neal, and Mozzie probably won’t tell anyone because Peter asked them not to.”

Derek nodded. Some of the rigidity of his body leeched away.

“So who else is a werewolf?”

Derek flinched. “Sheriff--”

“You’re living in my house. Any day now I expect you to ask permission to date my son.” He left it there, knowing Derek was smart enough to know the rest of the unspoken argument. John had wondered in the station why Stiles had so easily given up the names of the pack members and it wasn’t until later, until now, that he realized neither of them had actually answered the question if there were more werewolves in Beacon Hills. Derek had looked at Stiles and then Stiles had indicated both himself and John as part of Derek’s pact. They had cleverly implied that Derek’s new pack was entirely made of humans. He had only his suspicions until Derek had flinched.

“Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson.” Derek listed them like there was a special order to their names. 

John nodded. Now Stiles’ longer list of friends made sense and why he had so easily listed the pack earlier. Stiles’ amazing brain had jumped ahead with an excuse for Derek to be seen with any one of those kids. “Let me guess. This all started because of Scott.”

Derek had a small smile on his lips as he nodded.

It didn’t surprise him at all. Ever since the day Stiles had brought Scott home – five years old and both trouble magnets – Stiles had been involved in every aspect of Scott’s life, had been there for everything each other had gone through. “Who else knows?”

“Melissa McCall and Alan Deaton.”

John felt something in him ease. Thank God, he would have someone intimately close to the situation, just like him, to talk to. He idly wondered why the town veterinarian would know about werewolves, but he was more interested in how Melissa had found out. Did Scott tell his mother? Or did she find out by accident? Her knowing also explained why Melissa had forced Isaac Lahey to move into her and Scott’s home a few months before the zombies hit the news. Jackson, Boyd, and Erica all had families – dysfunctional as some of them were, but not Isaac. He idly wondered where Derek had been living this entire time. With that thought, he causally said, “So about Stiles.”

Derek immediately tightened, face back in tense lines.

John shook his head. He knew, watching the two of them these last two weeks, that it wasn’t just an older man wanting a pretty, young thing in is his bed. With Derek’s looks, he could have picked anyone, anyone at all. Instead, his voice and eyes softened any time Stiles was near. And his son. Stiles never invested himself this much in anyone except with John and Scott. Not even Lydia had ranked this much emotion, time, effort from his son. “Just . . . be careful with him, okay? He’s all I have left.”

Derek nodded, but there was something in his eyes that said he more than just empathized with that sentiment.

John knew there was more that he wanted to say, so much more. Stiles was _his son_. He stared at Derek, trying to impart everything he wasn’t saying.

The younger man nodded. The last thing John expected was for Derek to speak.

“He’s very special.” Derek huffed something like a rueful laugh. “Annoying, persistent, careless with himself. He won’t listen, always arguing, but he’s usually right. He gives and cares. And the magic.” The look Derek bent on him was utter exasperation . . . and something more. “How do you do it?”

John burst out laughing. He abruptly stopped. “Magic?”

Derek froze.

“STILES!”


	3. Tale 2: Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott never thought of the bite as a gift, but when it's his dad's only hope, Stiles knows it is.

“We’re running out of the flu vaccine,” House announced.

The town hall meeting started buzzing. 

“If this coming winter is as bad as the last one, we’re fucked.” House minced no words. “Last year seriously depleted our stores, so unless everyone moves to a building with heat, we’re gonna need more vaccines, Tamiflu and other cold and flu medication. A lot more.”

“Then let’s just send out another scavenging team,” a councilman proposed, to which many people started nodding.

“Ooooh, great idea! Except we cleaned out everything even remotely close to us.” House used his cane to tap the map of California, specifically Sacramento and its surrounding areas. It was the closest large city near Beacon Hills. “The team will have to head to Sacramento, fighting God knows how many zombies. But that’s okay, let’s send them out anyway!” Sarcasm dripped from nearly every syllable. 

“Sounds like if we go, we’re going to have to make it worth the danger,” the sheriff said.

Derek watched as everyone nodded. Normally, he wouldn’t have been at a townhall meeting, but ever since he had been deputized six months ago, John had asked him to come to them. Why, Derek wasn’t sure, but he acquiesced to the sheriff’s request nevertheless.

“If you can grab equipment, supplies, along with every medication you can find in the hospital? It would be very worth it.” Foreman announced from next to House. He paused and took a deep breath. “I’ll go with you, tell you what we can use and what we can’t.”

“And he knows how to handle a piece from his gangsta days,” House snarked.

Everyone, including Foreman, rolled their eyes.

“I’ll go too,” Chase, another doctor on House’s staff, volunteered. 

Derek knew that the team would have a better chance if he joined them. The pack wouldn’t be happy, but it was something the town – and more importantly, the human members of his pack – needed. Stiles had been one of those stricken with the flu last year. He hadn’t been bad off as some others, but without the medications he would have suffered. If Derek going meant Stiles and the rest of his pack were kept whole and hale, he would go. “I’ll go too.”

The sheriff was the only one to hear him and nodded. “I’ll be leading the team.”

“No, you need to stay for Stiles.” He was not going to budge on this. Stiles needed his father more than he would ever need his alpha. Besides, now that they knew he was immune, Derek was the logical choice.

John shook his head, facial and body language unyielding. “We’re going to need a lot of hands to move all that equipment and supplies as fast as we can. Without me going, confidence in the mission isn’t going to be high. We won’t get the volunteers we need.”

While Derek would have liked to have argued those points, he knew better. In the months since he had been added to the police department, rumors had sprung up about his immunity to the zombie virus. People had seen and talked about him saving the sheriff and his immunity. Thanks to House’s quick thinking, most of Beacon Hills thought he hadn’t turned because the infected man had just turned himself, therefore not having a large enough quantity of the virus yet to become infectious. Thanks to the mayor and House, he had been accepted even though the rumors persisted. But his acceptance was mostly thanks to John, in whom people seem to have this unwavering trust. John had moved him into his own home, had trusted him in the presence of Stiles, and everyone knew how protective he was of his son. With John’s standing, his every opinion mattered.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They set out with nearly twenty men and women. All armed to the teeth, dressed in full body dry suits under their fatigues. In the numerous trips scouting and scavenging trips, they had found that the dry suits were the best way – short of chainmail or a shark suit – to protect the teams from infection. Full masks, goggles, and gloves were worn as long as they were outside the walls. 

Derek, on the other hand, merely wore the same fatigues as the others. He wore no weapons or protective equipment. He had his claws, his fangs, and his immunity. More than one person had given him a disbelieving look, but he had ignored them, preferring the sheriff’s company. 

“You know, son, if you want to keep your secret, you’re doing it wrong.” 

Derek had to smile a little at John’s dry tone. “Certain people would like to ‘come out.’”

John snorted, but nodded. He knew of the other wolves, but had not shared that information with anyone else, knowing that secrecy protected the pack. “So, what? Planning to ease everyone into accepting that mythical creatures exist? Show them that you’re a good guy so when the rest of the pack comes out, it’s all okay?”

“It’s Stiles’ plan,” he pointed out.

John sighed. “Of course.”

Derek ducked his head to hide his little grin. Fond exasperation seemed to the predominant reaction to Stiles’ antics. He knew it’s what he felt, before it grew and changed into something else. 

The sheriff turned to the truck driver. “Dave, you ready?”

“Yes, sir!”

Derek was the last one inside the sixteen wheeler’s cargo compartment, slamming down the heavy duty doors and locking them from the inside. The truck was more tank than truck. The town mechanics has modified it to that the wheels rode along caterpillar tracks, protecting them against punctures and allowing the truck to roll over small obstacles. The truck was also fitted with steel plates that ran all along the bottom of the truck to almost the ground, ensuring that nothing could get caught under the chassis. Ventilation holes had been cut out all along the roof and the top of the truck’s wall. The windows and doors were protected by a steel cage, allowing the driver the maximum visual field while protecting him and his armed-to-the-teeth shotgun rider. They had even installed refrigeration and freezer in the very back of the truck for storing perishables and they had a small quarantine cell as well.

Two and a half hours of slow, lumbering movement, Dave’s voice came through the window between the truck’s cab and cargo compartment. 

“We’re comin’ up on St. Mary’s Hospital on Columbus Avenue. Will that do, doc?”

“Does it look intact?” Foreman asked, clambering onto the refrigeration units that were bolted to the floor to look through the window.

“It looks okay . . .” Dave trailed off.

“But we won’t know until we’re inside,” the doctor sighed in resignation. “Let’s head for it anyway.”

Following procedure, Dave expertly maneuvered his big rig so that the back end practically slammed into the entrance of the hospital, barely allowing an inch of space between the hospital’s walls and the truck’s. 

Derek undid the locks, letting the door roll upwards on its tracks.

The people behind him braced themselves, but nothing came moaning or screaming at them.

Derek kicked through the glass doors, carefully listening for the distinct shuffle of zombies or heartbeats of other scavengers. Hearing nothing, he nodded to John.

John nodded and turned to motion them into three teams. The smallest of the teams was to hold the truck and entrance against any attackers. The second smallest team was to find any usable medication and medical supplies. Chase and the sheriff were part of that team. Derek would go with the larger team and Foreman to search for portable medical equipment. 

It was almost funny – watching as Chase quickly guided a large Wal-Mart shopping cart towards the pharmacy. The cart’s wheels were perfectly silent, well greased and maintained just for occasions like this. Several of his team also had carts. These scavenging teams had gotten it down to a fine art, loading those carts in the most efficient and effective use possible.

Derek turned away from watching them to take point on Foreman’s team. It took nearly two hours, but they had scavenged all they could from the small hospital. Most equipment was too cumbersome to move, but ultrasound carts, crash carts, and laboratory equipment were all moveable and filled their heavy duty flatbed carts. 

It would have taken longer, but Derek used his strength to load the equipment much more quickly. Foreman, of course, was unsurprised, but the rest of the team gawked behind their masks. Derek said nothing, merely lifting and securing the machinery.

By the time they finished and reached the truck, the other team had already loaded their bounty. Many hands made quick work of loading the medical equipment. Soon enough the truck’s doors were closing and the engine revved up.

“Please, help us! Please!”

Derek didn’t need his wolf’s ears to hear the screams. A woman’s voice just loud enough to hear above the truck’s low, rumbling.

“Clear the area and strap yourselves in,” John ordered the scavenging team.

Everyone scrambled to hook themselves to the bungee cords attached to the walls, then plastered themselves against the wall furthest from the holding cell. If the truck had to make sudden movements, the cords would keep them inside the trailer even if the door was opened. They had learned this the hard way after losing several townspeople to erratic, but necessary driving. 

John nodded at him; Derek slid open the door.

The woman had a child in her arms, no zombies followed them. Derek heard no other heartbeats than theirs.

“Dave, slow it down!” John hollered.

The truck slowed down just enough for the woman to catch onto a steel grip and haul herself and her child inside. She froze as all of their guns were trained on her.

John stepped forward, removing his mask and goggles as Derek closed the door.

“You’re welcome to join us, miss, but I’m going to have to ask you to step into that cell. You’ll be quarantined for seven days.”

As always, his calm voice and easy demeanor eased any objections the survivor had. The woman kept her eyes on the guns but moved towards the quarantine cell. As soon as she closed the door, it locked her and the child inside; everyone relaxed.

Derek didn’t. 

He prowled closer, a scent drawing him towards the cell. 

The woman and child cringed away from him.

“Derek?”

He took another deep inhalation. Then moved towards John.

“Derek?” John repeated, quieter, leaning towards him.

“It’s. I can’t quite explain it.” Derek scowled as he racked his memories. “It smells like the infection, but different.” He couldn’t quite place the scent, but his instincts howled with the danger. His primal instincts beat against his human mores, demanding that the danger be eliminated, not caring one whit that it was a woman and child.

John was studying the survivors. “We’ll keep an eye on them.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn’t them that was the problem.

Halfway home, the sound of scurrying feet caught Derek’s attention.

He lunged, but didn’t catch it fast enough.

It flew towards John’s unprotected face.

Derek ripped the ferret off him, twisting it, ripping it in half.

The child screamed about her pet.

Derek didn’t care as he threw the bloody pieces out the ventilation windows.

The damage was done.

John was bleeding from scratches and bites.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Foreman and Chase had cleaned and bandaged John’s wounds, but now he was inside the quarantine cell with the woman and child.

The woman had continuously whispered her apologies, not knowing that her child had kept her pet ferret in her backpack, nor that it had been infected.

John had forgiven her, but Derek couldn’t forgive himself for not being more vigilant.

Stiles was going to lose both his parents before he reached eighteen. Derek knew intimately what that was like, but at least he had had Laura. Stiles would have no one.

“Derek,” John called, beckoning him closer.

He obeyed immediately.

John’s eyes were so very old, his face haggard. But his gaze was intense as it bore into Derek’s. “Promise me, Derek, that you’ll take care of him for me.”

Derek slowly nodded. He didn’t bother with platitudes. Those had been burned out of him. He gave the sheriff his vow, his eyes steady and determined as he stared back at the man who had accepted him into his home. He would have taken care of Stiles regardless of anything, but knowing that he had this man’s trust to take care of his son meant something to him. He wanted John to see that.

John nodded back. “Steve!”

Derek turned to go.

“No, Derek, stay, please.”

He remained where he was; they were soon joined by John’s second.

“John.” The deputy’s voice was quiet, respectful, but already mournful.

John didn’t say a word about succession or about the duties Steven would have to take on as the new sheriff. Instead, he said, “I want you to know, I want you as a witness.”

Steven immediately stiffened. “Witness what?”

John sadly shook his head. “Not that, Steve, not that.” He pointed to Derek. “If you see Derek with my son, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Steven parroted.

“I’m giving Derek my permission.” John stared at his friend, obviously trying to impart the knowledge without having to outright say it.

Derek ducked his head. This definitely wasn’t the time to laugh.

“Permission for what?” 

John heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting it back. He shook his head as he brought it back down, glaring at his deputy. “I’m giving Derek permission to date my son.”

Steven gawked. “But Stiles’ seventeen!” He waved a hand in Derek’s direction. “He’s in his mid-twenties.”

“I know, Steve,” John said slowly. “That’s why I’m telling you this now. So you won’t arrest his ass for statutory rape.”

Derek winced at the words.

“You know Jenn and I would take him in,” Steven was saying. “Stiles won’t be alone.”

“Thank you, Steve.” John was shaking his head. “But it won’t be necessary. Derek will take good care of him.” That intense stare was back. “Won’t you, son?”

Derek nodded carefully, turning to look at the deputy, still nodding and eyes intense as John’s. “I promise, sir.”

Steven didn’t look convinced, but he nodded too. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Every single Beacon Hills resident in that truck knew that Stiles’ reaction would be bad.

Only Derek was fast enough to catch him.

“Dad! Dad?” Stiles fought against his hold as John was led to the jail cell. “What’s going on? Why? Where are you taking my dad? Steve?”

Derek held on, wrapping himself around Stiles’ wiry body, refusing to let go even as the young man pounded on his arms and shoulders.

“Derek! Let me go!”

Derek couldn’t stand the fear in Stiles’ voice, couldn’t stand the tears he could smell. He used his own body to force Stiles to walk backwards, away from the small party of deputies leading John and the two survivors to quarantine.

“Derek? What’s going on? What happened?”

Derek pressed Stiles up against his father’s office wall, slamming the door shut and locking it. He caged Stiles with his own body, carefully catching Stiles’ jaw to keep him still. 

Stiles kneaded his shoulders, fingernails digging in deep, body a thrumming line of tension. His brown eyes were wild with fear, wet with tears. “Please, please, please,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly and gently as possible, holding on tight, curling around him, trying to give measly comfort through contact.

Stiles frantically shook his head, mouth clamped shut, hands clenched painfully on his shoulders. 

Derek held on as Stiles buried his face in his neck, silent tears wetting his skin and shirt. He held on as tight as Stiles held onto him.

Over Stiles’ shoulder, he saw people coming and going. He could hear them murmur their platitudes to the sheriff, their offerings to take care of Stiles for him. He saw Scott and Melissa. Tears in her eyes, wild rage in his glowing gold ones. Scott took an aborted step towards them, but Derek minutely shook his head. There would be time for Scott to be with Stiles later. When Stiles wasn’t so close to breaking.

The tears slowly stopped, but Stiles didn’t lift his head as he softly spoke. “Do you think the bite would help him?”

Derek swallowed hard. He had thought of it himself, had wished that he thought to offer it before the sheriff had gone on this stupid scavenging trip. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Peter.” Stiles sucked in a shuddering breath. “Peter said that the bite will either kill or turn you. Do you know the odds?”

“Most bitten turn,” Derek answered. “Very few die, but I don’t know what would happen to someone infected with the virus.”

Stiles eased himself straight, but didn’t move from the circle of his arms. His voice was full of determination as he said, “Well, let’s go ask.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Honestly, kid – and I hate to say this – but we just don’t know.” House was still for once, serious and actually showing his concern. “Every test we’ve done tells us jackshit about why Hale is immune.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Have you done experiments where you add Derek’s blood to infected samples?”

“Yup. Nada.”

“What about his saliva?”

House seemed to visibly stop himself from snarking at Stiles. He must have heard about the sheriff. “We thought of that too but, once again, nada.”

Stiles wasn’t deterred. “What if Derek bit my dad? What do you think’ll happen?”

House leaned back in his chair, twirling his cane and contemplating. He was silent for a long time.

Derek shifted to accommodate Stiles as he moved to curl into his side. He could feel him vibrating with tension and hope.

“I have no clue.” House sat up abruptly, planted his cane and heaved himself up. “What do you say we go find out?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

John stared at them, then blinked several times.

He wasn’t the only one. Steven was doing the same. 

“A werewolf?” he exclaimed, eyes completely fastened on Derek.

Derek merely raised an eyebrow at him.

“And that’s why you’re immune?” Steven tilted his head, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Derek was still surprised that he was so easily accepted by those who had been told. The only person who had had an extreme reaction had been Mozzie Haversham, but his reaction had been the most intense curiosity. The short, bald man had reminded him of Stiles because of that benign curiosity. Most people had reacted with a moment of shock, then shrugged it off after a few questions. But then again, Beacon Hills was an oasis surrounded by zombies and their mayor was technically a polygamist since everyone in town considered him married to both Elizabeth Burke and Neal Caffery. Beacon Hills was the very definition of an accepting, liberal California city, before and after the apocalypse.

“Are you sure about this, House?” Mayor Burke asked, thoughtfully moving his gaze from Derek to John. After House had decided to propose the idea to John, they had immediately gone to the mayor’s office and asked him to join them at the station. Ever since Burke had saved the town through his foresight, it had become common practice to involve him in anything that could impact the town. His judgment and opinion had become nearly law. Thankfully, the man was of the firm opinion that he was a public servant and “used his powers for good” as Stiles liked to put it.

House snorted. “We’re not sure about anything. We have no idea if it’ll cure him, kill him, or mutate him into something even worse than a zombie.”

“I’ll call for more backup,” Steven said.

“Here.” Chris Argent stalked into the room. “And just for record, I’m against this idea.”

Derek wasn’t surprised at all, but he hadn’t stopped Stiles from telling Argent after they left the hospital with House.

“C’mon, Johnny boy! Do it for science!” House exclaimed, all but grinning in anticipation.

John glared at the doctor; he turned to Derek. “Do you think it will work?”

Derek could only shrug. “It’s worth a try.”

John fell silent, his eyes now on Stiles. 

“Please, Dad.” Stiles tried to move closer. John immediately stepped back; Derek caught his shoulders and pulled Stiles back. Stiles threw him a look over his shoulder but turned to his father. “I know.” His mouth pulled tight. “You’re going to die anyway,” he forced the words out, wet and strangled. “At least this is something we can try.”

John stared just a bit longer. He slowly nodded.

Stiles wilted against him; Derek held him tight.

“When?” John asked.

“I can do it now.” Derek handed Stiles to Steven.

Stiles pulled away from Steven, glaring. “I can stand by myself, you know. Been doing it for sixteen and half years now.”

“I’ve seen you stand.” Derek couldn’t resist teasing to lighten the shadows on Stiles’ face.

Stiles mockingly glared, but it barely hid the apprehension.

Steven tossed the keys to John’s cell to Argent.

Derek didn’t bother watching the cell door being closed. Instead, he focused on John. “Lie down,” he quietly instructed. “And turn on your side.”

John followed the directions.

Movement made them both glance up. House had positioned himself so he had the best view.

“I wanna see!” he exclaimed gleefully. 

Both he and John bent baleful glares on him.

Derek turned back to John, lifting the sheriff’s shirt to reveal his side. “Ready?”

John nodded.

Derek turned back to look at Stiles once more.

Stiles nodded in encouragement, hands clenched and arms wrapped around himself.

Derek wished he had thought to call Scott here for this, for Stiles. He turned back around and opened his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They held vigil that night. 

Derek could hear his pack outside the sheriff’s station; wolves relentlessly pacing, humans trying to keep them calm. Scott had come in to be with Stiles. Boyd was outside making sure the rest of the pack was kept in check. Stiles had been unearthly quiet all night, barely moving, eyes never straying from his father’s sleeping form.

The mayor and House were asleep. Argent had just closed his eyes, turning the watch over to Steven.

Derek felt it the instant a new member joined his pack. The others felt it too. Scott perked up, moving to alert Stiles, but Derek stopped him with a shake of his head. Too quietly for anyone but the wolves to hear, he said, “We don’t know if he’s mutated. We wait.”

Grumbling from several of his wolves reached his ears, but they all settled back down to watch and wait.

John woke as the day dawned.

Everyone held their breath as he sat up.

He was cautiously looking down at himself, patting his side. John pulled up his shirt to reveal the smooth skin of a bite that had taken. “I think it worked,” he said it numbly, like a man who had made peace with dying.

“I can feel you,” Derek rumbled, surprising everyone. “The pack can feel you as one of us.”

Stiles stood on shaky legs, vibrating with joy, elation. Derek caught him before he could rush the cell.

“Derek?”

Derek touched his cheek in apology. “We should wait until the full moon.”

Stiles wanted to argue, he could see it, but he swallowed and turned to his father. 

“He’s right, son.” John smiled reassuringly at him; his whole being radiating hope and caution. “Let’s wait. It’s only a week away.”

Stiles slowly nodded, sinking back into Derek’s arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Just as when Derek had been in the quarantine, Stiles also visited his father every day. He brought meals and gossip and his never-ending chatter. Derek was always with him; he enjoyed watching Stiles interact with his father. Enjoyed watching John’s expressions as Stiles babble and rambled and the disgust at the usual salad that Stiles bought for him.

“If I’m a wolf, that means I can eat whatever I want, right?” John grumbled after Stiles had left to gather mountain ash. A protective circle made of the wood was the only way John would allow Stiles to stay for tonight’s full moon.

Derek couldn’t stop the grin. “You’ll have to convince Stiles of that, sir.”

John was flatly not amused.

Derek ducked his head to hide his widening smile.

“What should I expect?” John settled down onto the cot, pensive eyes on the window through which they watched the lowering sun.

“Scott said the first time he changed it felt like his entire body was stretching out of shape. Really uncomfortable and unnatural, but not entirely painful.” Derek huffed a bemused laugh. “Like trying to get into certain yoga poses. Though how he figured out that comparison, I’m not sure I want to know.”

John shook his head, a smile on his lips, eyes lit with laughter. “Melissa. She does yoga and she talked the boys into trying when they were younger.”

Derek shook with silent laughter at the image of Stiles and Scott contorted into some of those poses.

“And for you?” Curiosity now lit the sheriff’s eyes, laughter still lingering on him.

Derek shrugged. “I was too young to remember.”

John nodded, falling silent.

They remained quiet until Stiles stumble in.

“Got it!” He brandished an entire jar of mountain ash.

Hours later, after moonrise, he could hear his wolves gathering outside the sheriff’s department once more. He could hear their heartbeats as they slowed after a long night of running through the forests of Beacon Hills. They had come a long way from needing him there every second to ensure they didn’t lose control. Instead, he spent his night with his newest wolf.

John was strong, more than strong enough to take Scott from his place as Derek’s second, but from the moment John had transformed, he had attention for nothing but his son. John whined for him, pressing himself against the bars to try to reach Stiles.

At first, Derek wouldn’t let Stiles leave the circle of mountain ash, but after endless cajoling and pleading from Stiles, he finally relented. He kept himself between John and Stiles at first, but when John said his son’s name in a deep, content tone, Derek moved. John had done nothing more than pet his son. His movements were hypnotic, soothing. They reminded Derek of being groomed by his father when he was young. Derek knew that John would never need to be chained down during his first few moons. He already had his anchor.

Stiles basked and talked, happiness bubbling over and expressed through speech and body expression.

Derek was content to leave father and son alone, content to watch from a distance, giving them the illusion of privacy. He knew there would be time enough to introduce John to the pack and to deal with the fallout of John’s turning. The townspeople in the scavenging truck had all seen the attack, had seen John’s wounds. Maybe they could spin it that the virus couldn’t infect rodents like they could with dogs; maybe they could say that the viral load was too small to turn John into a zombie. Whatever story Burke and House came up, Derek would deal with all that later. Now, he basked in the joy of Stiles and his father, letting himself relax for the first time in days.

Outside, his wolves howled their welcome.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles ambushed him.

He had been relaxing with a book before going to sleep. Stiles had walked in, dressed in nothing but some basketball shorts, plucked the book from his hands and straddled his hips.

“Stiles--”

The kiss shouldn’t have caught him by surprise, but it did. 

He wasn’t surprised at all when Stiles pulled back and began to talk.

“I almost lost my dad.” Stiles’ fists were in his hair, yanking his head back, baring his throat. Derek felt no fear whatsoever that his jugular was exposed. Instead, he stared up at Stiles. Determination and conviction filled his young face. “I don’t want to wait to tell you I love you.”

Derek could only respond by pushing up, wrapping his arms around Stiles and pressing kisses to that mouth. They sank into long kisses; hands slowly exploring each other’s body.

“What? No protestations that I’m too young? No invoking my dad and his gun?” Stiles mumbled against his lips before diving back in.

Derek enjoyed their kisses too much to answer.

Stiles pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him, clearly expecting some kind of response.

“He’s already given his permission,” Derek answered.

“As long as no actual sex is happening where I can hear or see it, FYI!” John’s voice from the hallway startled them both. A box of condoms came flying into the room. “I’m going out with the guys for the next several hours!”

Derek smothered his laughter against an indignantly sputtering Stiles’ shoulder. He waited until he heard the front door slam before smiling up at Stiles, letting his hands roam smooth skin, savoring the heat and strength of Stiles’ body. “You’re only months away from eighteen and I’m not going to insult you by saying you don’t know what you want.”

Stiles beamed at him, rewarding him with more kisses and hands that left warmth in their wake.

“Besides,” Derek pulled away to lick a long stripe up Stiles’ throat. “You’re my mate.”

“What?” Stiles yanked him back by fists in his hair. Brown eyes were wide with shock and – Derek tilted his head to carefully study him – something like hope.

He smiled at his mate and pressed a kiss to his heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek dropped his head back, inhaling the crisp early evening air. The sun was slowly sinking behind the horizon; the moon was a bare sliver in the sky. Around him, his pack gathered. They were close to his old home, the woods he knew so well surrounding them.

Stiles, Allison, Lydia, and Danny were still lounging on the blankets that the pack had used for their picnic dinner. While his younger pack members were relaxed and taking off the clothes they wanted to preserve, John was still on the blanket near his son. He was watching the younger wolves, one hand wrapped around his soda, the other kneading a corner of the blanket. He was clearly apprehensive.

For a split second Derek wished Peter was here. His uncle had left after the alpha pack had been dealt with; an alpha in his own right after killing one of them. But having him here now, closer in age to the sheriff, would have been a help.

“Stiles?” He wasn’t even sure where to start, but he knew that his mate would. 

“Hmm?” Stiles turned away from his conversation with the other three. His eyes were bright, happy, curious. 

Derek smiled at his mate, reaching up to trace Stiles’ answering one. Huffed a laugh when Stiles playfully nipped his fingers.

“What’s up, Sourwolf?”

Derek nodded over Stiles’ shoulder. He didn’t bother saying anything, knowing that John would hear. But he didn’t need to. Stiles took in his father in one glance and leaned towards him.

John immediately adjusted to support Stiles’ weight. “What’s up, kid?”

Derek hid his smile at how similar the two of them were. 

“Nothing.” Stiles was trying for innocent, but failed miserably.

John rolled his eyes. “Uh huh.”

Knowing he was caught, Stiles offered his father a soft, supportive smile. “Nervous?”

“Yeah.” 

Derek wished he could be self-assured enough to air his worries like that as he shamelessly listened in on the father-son conversation. 

“Don’t worry, Dad. You’re just going to run with the pack. No need to eat Bambi or Thumper.” Stiles smiled and nodded towards him. “Derek will keep you from doing anything you’ll regret.”

John nodded too; tension slowly seeping away from his body. 

In the month since John had turned, he had trained with the pack, but from what Stiles was saying, he must have worried about the moon’s influence on his own control. John could worry all he wanted, Derek knew he had nothing to fear from his wolf or the moon.

When he felt the pull, Derek stood. He watched as John hugged Stiles, then moved towards Scott and the other betas. His leather jacket went into Stiles’ safe keeping as he pressed a kiss to his lips.

Stiles caught his hand, keeping him close. Derek could read the message in those eyes and nodded.

He ran that night with his pack, John by his side, their howls echoed through the night. They returned as the day was dawning.

Derek pulled back to watch his wolves head towards the rest of their pack. He wasn’t at all surprised when John kept pace.

“That was surprisingly fun.” John sounded as if he was expecting anything but.

“How do you feel?” It was perhaps the best and only question he had for his de facto father-in-law.

“Better than I have in a long time.” John inhaled, stretching out his arms, then shaking his entire body. 

Derek nodded, smiling. “I’m glad you took the bite.”

John smirked. “You say that now, but just you wait until we disagree on something.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes for good measure. His entire pack had, at one point or another, disagreed with him. Loudly and painfully. He was smart enough now to listen when someone argued with him, just in case theirs was the better opinion. He had stopped being surprised a very long time ago that Stiles was most often his most vehement opponent and his best advisor.

John chuckled as if he realized Derek was not a stranger to disagreements within his pack.

Their humans were wrapped in warm cocoons, fast asleep. Scott and Jackson curled with Allison and Lydia. Erica and Boyd piled with Isaac on top and around Danny. John immediately went to Stiles. 

Derek stood over them, still energized from the strength of his pack, and kept watch.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be more tales in this universe, I'll just have to see if there's interest from readers or my muse. Thank you very much for reading!


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